


Mistakes and Tragedies

by Kalaiscope



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Just So We're Clear, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Multi, Not Actually Smut, angst angst angst angst that is literally all i can write i swear, bertl gettin' laid, bertl sleeping around, but not by the one he really loves, flowery descriptions of underage sex, i'm not kidding about the angst and gore and flowery prose here, if you can even call it that, really really vague and flowery descriptions, some blood/gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalaiscope/pseuds/Kalaiscope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect, he should never have bothered trying to make friends in the first place. All it brought him was more guilt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistakes and Tragedies

**Author's Note:**

> A sort-of fill for [this](http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/524.html?thread=441100#cmt441100) prompt on the SNK KINKmeme, and kind of a follow-up/expansion of the [original fill](http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/524.html?thread=1494796#cmt1494796). An exercise in turning crack into angst, as well as a bit of character analysis/introspection. Uh, it's probably a good deal out of character, but I had fun writing it.
> 
> I really hope the original filler doesn't mind me posting this, and if you do, Anon, please tell me! I will happily take it down for you.

Reiner and Annie have mentioned his reclusiveness, the fact that he hardly ever interacts with the other trainees if he can help it, but this is the first time they've actually confronted him about it. _'Play nice'_ , they tell him, _'be a little more friendly,'_ but Bertholdt doesn't get it. What does he owe these people? He's doing well enough, blending in, he doesn't need to be sociable.

Still, they've asked him to try, and he can't very well ignore that. So when Cornelia shyly approaches him before a lecture and wonders aloud if it's alright for her to sit next to him, instead of ignoring her the way he would have before, ducking his head and pretending he hadn't heard, he tries a smile and moves over. 

They eat lunch together that day, and the next. She sits with him during classes, and sometimes they pair up for sparring. Its hard to remember to go easy on her. Even compared to the other trainees, she's pretty weak.

She talks a lot and Bertholdt doesn't, but she doesn't seem to mind that. If anything, the lack of interruption seems to please her, and whenever he makes a quiet comment in response, or asks a question, she looks pleased. He doesn't get it. But she's nice enough, in her own bland, mortal way, and spending time with her can't hurt.

When she corners him after dinner and kisses him, he's surprised, but he doesn't push her away. Their noses bump, and her mouth sort of bangs against his in a way that traps his upper lip against his teeth and kind of hurts. This is his first kiss. It doesn't feel like anything special. She turns red and stutters, which is a little more surprising than the kiss itself, and significantly more alarming, so he takes her face in his hands and they try again. 

It's... different. Softer, less hurried. They find out by trial and error what works and what doesn't. Discover for the first time what a body of the opposite sex can do. Bertholdt follows her hinted desire and leads them down a road he's never before considered setting foot on. He doesn't once think of stopping.

Everything is awkward at first. It feels like they're both barely fifteen, inexperienced, going off minimal sex ed from Keith and what might pass as 'instinct'. But it works, and they figure it out. When things feel too tense, Bertholdt laughs quietly, smiles hesitantly, and kisses her. He's learning how humans respond to eachother. The give and take of interaction, the sweetness of connection, the pleasure of physical contact.

They don't make a secret of it. When they return to the barracks for the night, Bertholdt kisses her goodnight, because she looks at him as though she expects it. Obviously someone sees, and he's bombarded by excited boys the minute he enters the cabin, boisterous voices and hearty thumps on the back making him wince and wonder again why human males must be so inherently violent. 

_'Who'd have thought!'_ they crow, and elbow him playfully. _'You're always quiet, but you're a real dog after all, aren't ya?'_ Some are jealous. They elbow him harder than the others. Some of them seem genuinely proud though, which he understands even less than the jealousy. It's not such a big deal, is it?

Reiner gives him a look when Bertholdt's finally freed from the crowd and climbs into bed. He gives a short warning about being careful, doesn't elaborate further, and turns his back. Bertholdt is left to stew in confusion and hurt until he falls asleep, wondering why he doesn't get praised for following their suggestion.

Cornelia dies in a training accident two days later. 

It's what they call it, but everyone knows how the instructors will cut your lines if they think you're not paying enough attention during training, and that's no accident. It's a dangerous exercise, but if you can't think fast in a situation like that, well, you probably won't stand a chance against the titans anyway, right? So you think fast, or you fall, like Cornelia.

Looking at her twisted body on the rocks below, haloed in crimson, Bertholdt thinks it's probably tragic. Still so young, and all that. A poet would write about the graceful way she plummeted, how her hair fans out beneath her head, the exact shade of her blood and how it compares to the hue of roses. 

But Bertholdt is not a poet. When she fell, she screamed and thrashed, and her hair is all tangled up and matted with blood that just looks to him like anyone else's' blood. It's not beautiful, it's stomach-turning.

At least he's free of her now though. He sighs, and keeps on climbing.

The next one to come along is Eren. Creeping up in the middle of the night to the bunk Bertholdt and Reiner share, looking pale and small and young. He must not have been expecting either of them to be awake, because he jumps when Bertholdt rolls over, and whisper-mumbles that he wanted the other boy (but nevermind, it's not important). 

Before, Bertholdt would have been fine with just that, grunted assent and gone back to not sleeping. But he still feels he should try and honor the agreement of being more sociable. Cornelia was just one person, and she's dead now, so she probably doesn't count, whether or not it can even be considered a success. So he sits up slowly and suggests that maybe he can help. If Eren wants, that is.

At first he's sure he's going to be turned down. Eren looks shocked, no, mortified. Slowly though, his features crumple, and he finally nods, just once. Bertholdt takes his hand and leads him outside.

There, where the thick stone and wood walls block the sound, Eren breaks down. Clinging to Bertholdt's hand and shaking with silent tears, sobbing without restraint. Utterly at a loss, Bertholdt pulls the younger boy to his chest, feeling arms wrap around his middle, and silently wonders at the sight of such a fierce soul being consumed with fear and loneliness. He's ashamed to be able to empathize. Pretending to be tough in front of others is exhausting, and seeking out a stronger force for reassurance is only natural. After all, isn't that just what Reiner is to him?

Eren hiccups wetly when he kisses the top of the boy's head, and looks up with an expression of complete bewilderment and hopelessness. When Bertholdt kisses his lips, chapped, and slippery from all the tears, he closes his eyes and kisses back aggressively. Bertholdt lets him. 

It's different, kissing someone who's not a girl. For one, its much harsher, and there's more bumping of teeth and noses. Yet Eren feels far more fragile than Cornelia ever did, and he holds back with his touches, uncertain. 

Eren will have none of it. 

He's sloppy, but determined, surging forward like he can burn all his fear out by dominating someone twice his size. And still Bertholdt lets it happen. Guides him as best he can while remaining impassive. Shows him how to touch and take and forget everything for as long as possible. 

He learns, too. He discovers how much it hurts to have blunt teeth bite hard enough to draw blood, and not be allowed to heal over the wounds. He experiences the pain of fingers digging deep into his skin, bruising, like he'll run away if he isn't held tight enough. It's excruciating, but he takes it anyway. Eren isn't the only one trying to forget bigger things.

He lets the marks that show even with his clothes on fade, just enough so that they're not noticeable. If Eren thinks its strange, how fast they disappeared, he doesn't mention it. The rest of the bruises, Bertholdt keeps. He's not sure why, really. Maybe a reminder. Maybe he likes the ache. Or maybe he's hoping that Reiner will notice, frown, take on that voice that sounds like disapproval but just means he's worried, and question him. (He doesn't. Bertholdt's sure he notices, but he doesn't.)

Eren never again comes to their bunk in the middle of the night. At least, not that Bertholdt notices. They don't avoid each other, but they don't talk about it either. And they don't do it again. It's like a mutual agreement- Nothing ever happened between them.

With Marco, it's different. Marco is generous, outspoken, charismatic, and selfless. No one questions it when he chooses to befriend the tall trainee who doesn't speak and keeps to himself. Charity case, right? And maybe it is, but then, it's debatable who's really the one being charitable.

It starts with a conversation. It starts with Bertholdt noticing. It starts with a mutual admission, that they're both pining badly over someone who will never look at them the same. The circumstances are different, of course, as are the emotions tied to their separate dilemmas. But it's enough to commiserate, and it's enough to be an excuse.

It's Marco he plays pretend with. Night after night, whenever sleeping close enough to touch but not being allowed to reach out becomes too much. They find each other in the dark. Behind the outhouses, between the cabins, in sheds, under stairs, and sometimes on their own bunks, holding their breath so they won't get caught and secretly wondering if maybe they WANT to be caught. 

Marco teaches him things. Dirty things, private things, not just in motions but in feelings as well. Awful, festering feelings for others. For himself. He starts to know what hate feels like, in all it's many forms, in every combination and for every occasion. Sometimes he hates humanity. Sometimes he hates Reiner, for forgetting, and Marco, for reminding him. Most of the time though, and most privately, he hates himself.

Annie kills Marco. She has to, since Bertholdt or Reiner would be recognized instantly if they transformed. She makes it fast, a snatch and snap, tossing aside the remains and escaping before the boy even has time to process what just happened.

Somehow though, even with half his torso and half his face sitting in the Female Titan's stomach, Marco lives long enough to drag himself almost upright. He bleeds out leaning against the wall of a building, hand across his chest as though he'd be clasping them serenely if he still had both. 

Bertholdt watches him die. It shouldn't bother him then, when Jean lugs the corpse in to the bonfire site, gaunt, pale, and rotting, but he still has to duck away quietly so he can empty his stomach again and again. Reiner doesn't come to find him. And for once, he's almost glad. 

Resting his head against the rough stone, he thinks it's a shame. If he'd never gone and tried to bond with the other trainees, this wouldn't have happened. He wouldn't be feeling so awful at Marco's inevitable death. He'd be with Reiner and Annie, regretful, wistful, but not sick.

It really is such a shame. Marco was the best looking one, handsome even, but now he'll be forever branded in Bertholdt's mind as the rotting corpse he fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should mention here that there was a lot of deliberation that went into that last line/word. I liked how the use of crude language after all that 'elegant'-style writing made it end on a very jarring note, but I wasn't sure at first if it was maybe too harsh, and that people wouldn't quite get the nuance of it. (Which is why I'm explaining it now, even though I probably shouldn't bother... Aha, what can I say, I like to ramble.) The thing is, in this story at least, Bertholdt genuinely _liked_ Marco. Quite a bit, actually. Not in any romantic sort of way, but sharing yourself like that, especially when you've been taught to never let your thoughts or feelings show, rather endears you to someone, I think. Or at least, forces you to trust them a lot. And Bertholdt knows it's necessary, (or thinks it is,) but getting him killed just makes him feel so, so guilty, and deals with it by objectifying Marco, or trying to convince himself that Marco was anything less than another flawed human being. 
> 
> I guess this got kind of obscure, but there you have some explanation, if you're curious about my meandering thought process.


End file.
